


pathology

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Prison, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Belly Kink, Biting, Blood and Injury, Bottom Will Graham, Breeding Kink, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Come Marking, Creampie, Crying, Desperation, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Just the Tip, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Bites, Multiple Orgasms, Murder Husbands, Murder Kink, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Will Graham, On the Run, Restraints, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Size Difference, Size Kink, Social Issues, Top Hannibal Lecter, Underage Kissing, Urination, Watersports, Will Graham Knows, dowry, jailbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-01 09:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: In his periphery, Hannibal's head tilts. "Tell me," he purrs, "how exactly does one your age come to enroll in an FBI training facility?"





	1. Chapter 1

Will Graham is used to being cautious. It comes with the territory of being a young, unmated omega in a big city, who grew up in the kind of place where a too-lowcut shirt or too-tight jeans meant an open invitation for any alpha big and brave enough to have their wicked way with him.

At fourteen, living essentially on his own in a private dorm on his campus – subsidized by the FBI training facility and the Government since no one in their right mind would assume Bill Graham Senior could afford it on his own – he's gotten used to keeping his head low and his nose clean, staying out of trouble. It's cold in Virginia so he can get away with wearing unflattering, frumpy sweaters and thick boots, keep his hair long and unkempt to hide his face and the subtle glow of gold in his eyes. It's the kind of place where shying from social events that went too long into the night and refusing to entertain guests wasn't exactly odd – not that he had a lot of offers. He's still a kid, after all, and talks funny and sees too much and runs his damn mouth far more than he should when something about a person pings in his too-perceptive brain.

What drew the attention of the FBI repels most others, and Will's okay with that. The only adults he has regular interactions with are his professors, his den mother, and Agent Crawford who, when Will graduates, will likely become his boss.

He's used to being cautious. Which is why, as he trots up the steps to his little dorm complex and sees the door sitting open, just an inch, he freezes. He breathes in, chest going cold at the scent of alpha – he's not the only omega living in this building, and most of them are old enough to have mates or boyfriends and girlfriends and all other combination therein, but he doesn't recognize this scent, and every visitor knows to leave the code-operated door closed for the residents' safety.

He steps back, sharp eyes scanning the windows at the front of the building, looking for a light where there shouldn't be one, movement that doesn't belong to one of the omegas or their guests. He breathes in again, exhale misting in the cold air, and wraps his arms around his chest. He can't just stand here shivering and alone all night, but he dares not go inside, either.

He presses his lips together, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He has plenty of battery – another result of an overabundance of caution – and made sure his building wasn't in a dead zone before he agreed to move in. He pulls up his den mother's phone number and lifts the phone to his ear as it starts to ring.

The phone is still ringing when suddenly, there's warmth at his back and a big hand flattening over his mouth, holding a cloth that stinks of the sweet, cloying scent of chloroform. He gasps on instinct, dropping the phone, and kicks out as best he can, but it only takes two inhales for it to take effect, and he feels with helpless dismay as his body goes lax, his eyes close, his shoulders droop.

"Shh," a voice comes, masculine, low and warm against the nape of his neck. Will whimpers, but can't fight as another strong arm wraps around his chest, cradling his limp body like he weighs no more than a ragdoll. He goes under, slipping away fast, as the man hefts him easily into his arms, and carries him away from the dorm.

Will wakes in a room, blinking blearily and groaning as his sore shoulders tighten immediately, on edge and alert. He's in a chair, his wrists and ankles bound to it with soft rope, chafing at his bare skin as he tugs on the restraints. His sweater has been removed, leaving him in a t-shirt and his jeans, his socked toes scraping along the floor. His shoes have been taken, too.

He blinks, tries to force the grogginess from his head so he can take in his surroundings. The room he's in is a dining room, a broad, dark table gleaming, freshly polished, fringed with high-backed wooden chairs. There's a fire burning in the hearth at his left, casting golden and amber streaks of light across the room. At the other end of the dining table is another chair and a little table holding a bottle of some alcohol he's too far away to see the label of, set in front of a thick pair of green curtains, emerald and patterned with gold stitching in intricate swirls.

He breathes in, swallowing as he catches that same alpha scent that had lingered in front of his building. He doesn't want to think of the implications of an alpha breaking into his building and happening upon an unpresented boy like him, but he can't help himself – the pathology of such a man would be cowardice, but a need for control, because children are easier to control. He tries not to think of the survival rates of child victims versus teenagers, doesn't want to wonder whether he's statistically more likely to be killed or raped, but it comes to him in flashes, stacking the deck until he starts to hyperventilate, fingers flexing as he struggles harder, panic overtaking him.

He senses movement before he sees it, and freezes as a shadow darkens his periphery, blocking the heat and light of the fire. He clenches his eyes shut and tightens his jaw when a hand brushes, feather-light and soft as air, along his pale cheek.

A laugh comes, quiet and thick with amusement. "I don't care whether you see me or not, Will. Open your eyes." He knows it's an alpha speaking, because only an alpha can wield such a commanding presence and stern tone. He whines, and shakes his head, shuddering when the hand drags through his hair again and tightens on his nape, forcing his head up. "Look at me."

Will does, and gasps. The man is in his late forties, his eyes black in the shadows, face painted skeletal and stern, irises containing flickers of red that confirm what Will already assumed. He's tall, broad-shouldered and thick with strength and power, his features almost unsuitably fine in comparison. His lips, plush and dark, spread in a wide smile, showing Will his uneven, dangerous teeth.

Even if Will didn't already recognize him from his pictures, he would know who this man is; "Doctor Lecter," he breathes. _Hannibal_, the infamous serial killer and cannibal who has been a bright source of intrigue in psychiatric circles for years.

Hannibal nods, once, his eyes raking over Will in a slow motion, heavy as a physical touch. He releases Will's neck and straightens, even more huge and imposing at his full height. Will resists the urge to cower, to whine, now that he knows who it is that took him. Hannibal doesn't appreciate fear like others of his particular pathology.

"Please forgive me for our rude introduction," Hannibal says, his accent thick and his voice soft, coaxing, like a wolf might charm a lamb from the herd. He pulls the chair by Will's side out and sits in it. "I would rather have first met you under different circumstances, but after the letter you wrote to me, I knew I had to meet you in a setting where we could speak to each other honestly."

Will swallows, fingers flexing. He remembers that letter – Hannibal is his thesis subject, and he'd written to him, asking for an interview. Hannibal has never allowed it from psychology students before, and at the very most Will expected a polite, but firm decline. He had never imagined Hannibal would accept his request for an interview, and _definitely _didn't expect the man to break out of prison and kidnap him just for a friendly chat.

Though he shouldn't assume Hannibal intends to remain friendly. He may choose to eat Will, once his curiosity is sated.

In his head, Will mentally shifts his assessment, now that he knows who his predator is. Hannibal kills and eats without compunction; he values decency and politeness, and the finer things in life, culture and art and poetry. He's a man of high standards and even higher knowledge of social graces and Will would do well not to offend him.

He forces himself to settle – he's not going anywhere, and to continue to show his nervousness would probably annoy Hannibal more than anything else. He swallows and wets his lips, his mouth dry, and clears his throat.

Hannibal notices. "Would you like something to drink?" he offers.

"Water would be good, if you don't mind," Will replies, as steadily as he can. Hannibal smiles at him, looking pleased at Will's politeness, and stands, leaving the room to what Will assumes is a kitchen. He takes a moment to test the bonds again, and curses when he sees Hannibal has bound his wrists in a constrictor knot – almost impossible to untie oneself, and will only get tighter the more he struggles. He can assume his ankles are bound the same way, so he settles and forces himself to relax, instead listening as Hannibal shuffles around the kitchen, fills a glass with water, and returns to Will. It's half-full of ice and has a straw, and he sits again and offers it to Will.

Will takes the straw between his lips and sucks down two mouthfuls, wincing at the chill of the water. Hannibal takes it away and sets the condensing glass on a coaster, absently wiping his hand on his thigh to rid himself of the glaze of water. He's not wearing a prison jumpsuit, no garish orange thing, but slacks and a button-down, and a jacket that Will assumes was pilfered from one of his guards.

Hannibal meets his eyes again, nostrils flaring as he takes in Will's scent, and lets out a little rumble of pleasure. "You're calming down," he notes.

Will nods. "You're either going to eat me, or you're not. Fear is useless." He wets his lips, and adds; "Makes the meat bitter."

Hannibal's teeth flash in his smile. "Considerate of my palette?" he asks, gently humored. His eyes lower to Will's red wrists, and his lips turns down in displeasure. "I would like to think I could untie you, now that you've gotten over your initial shock, but logic and reason tell me that would be unwise."

"I don't have any weapons on me," Will replies. "No phone, nor any way to get to one before you caught up with me." Hannibal hums, gives a single nod of acknowledgement. "I doubt I could outrun you or physically overpower you, and I don't even know where I am, if I would be able to run and cry for help." He swallows, and finishes with; "I'll admit, my hands are getting a little numb."

Hannibal nods again, and leans forward, his fingers deft and capable as he unwinds the knot from Will's wrist, and lets the ropes fall free. He takes them, and stands, unbinding his other wrist, pocketing the ropes before Will can get it into his head to use them as a weapon. Will's lips twitch in a smile at the thought, and he sighs in relief, rubbing his hands over his sore wrists as Hannibal settles back down again.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and Hannibal's chin bows in another gracious nod. Will sits forward, shifting in his chair, and reaches for his water glass, pulling the straw out and wiping it on his jeans so it won't get the table wet, shivering as that action earns another flash of pleasure in Hannibal's dark eyes. He sips at the water, and sets the glass down again.

"So," he says, when Hannibal remains silent, "you got my letter."

Hannibal nods again. "I admit, I'm surprised to find that it came from someone so young," he murmurs. Will doesn't want to flush, but he can feel his cheeks heating all the same. "You have a remarkably insightful mind – I knew upon reading it that I had to meet you."

"But on your own terms," Will says before he can stop himself. His cheeks darken when Hannibal merely smiles.

"Somewhere more neutral, but undoubtedly in my favor, yes," he replies. "Every interaction I had during my incarceration was heavily monitored, recorded for posterity, I assume. I would never dream of exposing you to such scrutiny."

Will blinks, frowning.

"Observation is a double-edged sword, Will," Hannibal adds. "A mind such as yours deserves to be treated as more than an interesting sideshow attraction." His head tilts. "You possess abilities I have never seen, even in men three times your age, with five times your education and resources. I was intrigued by the prospect of speaking with you as equally as I could manage."

Will can't help it – he laughs. "I suppose a hostage situation is more equal than a prison interview."

Hannibal's lips twitch in a smile almost fond.

Will swallows, and looks down at his lap. He's dwarfed by Hannibal's big, fancy chair, feels too slim and too small while Hannibal overflows from his own seat, all long lines and quiet strength. The muscles in his forearms, exposed by the up-rolled sleeves, are heavily lined with veins. Will imagines his hands wrapping around someone's neck, crushing them of air. Imagines his knuckles, bloodied and split apart.

He sucks in a breath, and turns his face away. It would be so easy, to let Hannibal's mindset and pathology sink into him, to coat him and make itself at home as Will has had to for everyone else in his life; his parents, his friends, his killers. But he thinks – no, it's knowledge, he knows – it would be more like a sharp blade than a wave. Not so much a coating, like clothing he can put on and peel off when he's done, but a knife straight to his heart, hollowing him out and creating a cavern of endless curiosity, hunger, eager to devour.

In his periphery, Hannibal's head tilts. "Tell me," he purrs, "how exactly does one your age come to enroll in an FBI training facility?"

"I can see things," Will replies. "Understand people." His shoulders lift and fall, not quite a shrug, not quite a motion caused by his aching lungs. "It helps with profiling, I guess."

Hannibal makes a sound that is rather ungracious, and Will looks at him again. "Are you purposely being coy?" he asks.

"Are you purposely flattering me, in the hopes that I'll open up to you?" Will replies, brows arching. Hannibal smiles, widely, his eyes dark and proud. "You're good at making people want you to like them. I don't need you to like me."

"Oh?"

Will shakes his head. "Like I said, either you'll eat me, or you won't. How I behave won't change that."

"But it could drastically change the means of your death," Hannibal counters. He stands, and Will sucks in a breath, forces himself to remain still, his hands on his armrests, as Hannibal circles behind his chair. His fingers, splayed out wide, pet down Will's cheeks, one curling beneath his chin, the other sliding up into his hair. "A swift jerk to one side would paralyze you," he says, and coaxes Will's jaw to his right, too slowly to do harm. "Or, perhaps, a hand over your mouth, to slowly suffocate."

His fingers skate Will's lower lip, but his palm does not flatten. Will can't help the way his heart speeds up, a prey-animal edge of fear gathering in his chest despite himself.

"Or," Hannibal continues, "a knife at your throat. A sharp pain, and then lethargy you would never recover from."

Will's mouth is flooded with Hannibal's scent, and he breathes in shakily, closes his eyes to shut out the fire. "There are worse ways to die," he manages to say.

Hannibal's fingers go still, and Will tenses as he leans over the back of the chair, and his nose touches Will's temple, nudging his hair away so he can get a deep lungful of Will's scent. The exhale he lets out contains a heavy rumble, and he pets almost absently over Will's hammering pulse, before he withdraws.

"Do you want to die, Will?" he asks, leaving Will in his chair and going to a small table by the curtains, to the bottle of dark liquid and three glasses. He opens it, and Will's nostrils flare at the overly sweet scent of the alcohol. It's not wine, it's too thick and smoky to be wine, and is a dark amber color as Hannibal pours himself a glass.

"No," he says.

Hannibal turns, and smiles at him, returning the cap to the bottle and retaking his seat. "But you can see the beauty in it, can't you?" he says, and Will swallows harshly. "Life is precious, from the smallest insect to the most formidable monster. Yet it all must end."

"Their lives sustained yours," Will replies quietly, watching as Hannibal sips at his drink. The amber of the liquid makes the red in his eyes look all the more stark. He feels, coiled at the base of his skull, a flash of awareness, something sharp and venomous when he hisses; "It's the best thing they did in their miserable lives, surrendering to the apex predator."

Hannibal pauses. His head tilts.

"Nothing is your equal. To treat me any differently than anyone else you've killed would be like showing compassion to a cow before you slaughtered it."

Hannibal smiles. "Now who's aiming to flatter, Will?" he purrs.

"Does it flatter God to be worshipped, or does he drop church roofs on his creations just because he can?"

Hannibal's eyes flash. He sets his glass down and gives Will another long, considering look. "You are _fascinating_," he murmurs. Will swallows, but forces himself to maintain eye contact. Feels, chipping away, Hannibal's mindset and influence gnawing curiously at the walls of his mind. It's too easy, it's so easy, like stepping through an open door; to look at Hannibal and see what he is. Who he is.

He's self-assured, confident. Powerful, and strong. He's a man who knows exactly what his place is in the world, and Will doesn't know if it's more admiration or envy clawing at the base of his throat, but he can't deny that he feels it powerfully. Whatever Hannibal is, Will likes the look of it.

Hannibal straightens, folding one leg over the other, and takes another drink. "It's true – your behavior would not have spared your life, nor condemned you to death, when I took you," he says lightly. "But I also had no intention of killing you when I read your letter. I still have no intention."

Will nods to himself, refusing to let the relief show on his face, and sits forward to take another drink of water.

"You broke out of prison to bring me here," he says. "But you can't stay."

"No," Hannibal concedes with a nod. "But I have places I can go, resources and hideaways that will grant me sanctuary for a long while." He looks at Will, and Will freezes in place. "Places big enough for two."

Will meets his eyes. Blinks. Shivers when he realizes what Hannibal is saying. "You want to take me with you?"

"I'd rather you came of your own accord," Hannibal replies, brows lifting. "But yes. I can think of no end of pleasures and diversions we could provide each other."

Will swallows harshly, his throat suddenly so dry. "I'd draw attention," he argues, and wonders if his counterpoints even add up to a 'No', in his mind. Wonders if, from the moment he drafted and sent his letter, he was going to say 'Yes'. "What would I even be? Your son?"

Hannibal smiles, like Will just told a rather simple but adorable joke.

"Let us not do each other the disservice of pretending you are not a lovely young omega, Will," he purrs. "And I'm certain you will only grow more beautiful as you age." He takes a drink. "I would have you in whatever way I desired – in a way, I'm certain, you would grow to like as well."

Will swallows again. "Rape isn't in your pathology," he says weakly. "Pedophilia, either."

Hannibal's eyes darken – not with offense over Will's words, he's certain, but some older outrage Will reminded him of. "No," he replies steadily. "It's not."

For Hannibal's pathology is pleasure – mutual, to be enjoyed without limit. Will's heart is flying in his chest; he's not foolish enough to think that he could say 'No' and mean it. But he's also not under the illusion that Hannibal intends for Will to play the part of his _son_, when they leave together. If he goes, he will go as Hannibal's mate – or at least companion. Socially, Will is still on the young side, but he's sure there are places in the world that wouldn't blink twice.

"I will, of course, be more than happy to send money to your father, as compensation," Hannibal adds with another warm smile. "I felt metal on you, when I carried you here. Has he kept you in chastity?"

Will's cheeks heat, darken to a dull red, imagining Hannibal touching him as he positioned and bound Will, admiring his slim body and curiously feeling the edges of the leather and metal keeping him caged. He shifts his weight and nods. "Yeah, I'm -." He clears his throat. "He was worried, when I moved up here. Figured I'd be less likely to get into trouble if I kept it on."

Hannibal nods, like this thought doesn't surprise him. "I can see why," he murmurs. "You are beautiful."

Will's blush darkens, and he pets over the side of his neck – an unconscious action, but one Hannibal watches sharply. His fingers drag down his throat, and he shivers when Hannibal's upper lip twitches back to show his teeth.

It's a natural instinct, to want to be appealing and sweet to his alpha, and as tightly pressed to his mind as Hannibal is, he's helpless to calm the quiver of his thighs, the racing beat of his heart. Hannibal stands, and Will looks up at him with wide eyes, panting as Hannibal approaches him, and leans down to cup his face.

"Stand," he commands, and Will presses his lips together, pushes himself up unsteadily as the chair creaks back, and he can manage to get his weight under him, though he's in an awkward crouch to compensate for how his ankles are still bound. Even when he straightens, the top of his head barely crests Hannibal's collarbone. He can't help thinking of all that weight and power pressed over him, and he shivers.

Hannibal smiles, and kneels, deftly untying the ropes around Will's ankles until he is free. He straightens, and pulls Will around so his back is to Hannibal's chest, big hands spread out wide down his arms, letting Will feel just how big and strong he is.

Will shivers, and lets out a helpless little whimper, his face on fire and his thighs tensing, rubbing together, and he feels himself start to get slick.

Hannibal leans down, nudges his temple and breathes in deeply again. "Exquisite," he purrs, and cups Will's throat, his hand big enough to completely cover it. Will tilts his head up, bares his neck, arches as Hannibal kisses between his own fingers, his soft mouth sending skittering shards of electricty down Will's spine.

"Oh, Will," he breathes, sending another wave of heat through Will's body. "I can tell you're going to suit me wonderfully, darling. I could just eat you up."

And despite knowing just how literally Hannibal could take that, Will can only moan.

Hannibal laughs, and releases him, turning Will so that their eyes can meet. He cups Will's face, and leans down to kiss him. Alphas have hormones in their saliva, produce pheromones to coax an omega into being pliant and willing, and Will trembles, a fresh gush of slick leaking from him as Hannibal's tongue slips between his lax lips, tasting him, and he grips Will's nape and tightens his hold until Will sags.

He ruts helplessly against Hannibal's thigh, his caged cock unable to harden, but his body is so wet, so weak against this powerful, dangerous alpha. Hannibal growls against his mouth, the red in his eyes bright and thick, and he pets through Will's hair as they part, wetting his lips as though chasing the taste of him.

"You must be very quiet," he says, and Will nods, dazed and in no condition to fight back, even if he wanted to. "Come." Hannibal takes his hand and leads him to the front closet, where Will's sweater and shoes are. He helps Will into them and dons his own coat, and then takes Will to his car. Will can tell he was brought in the trunk, for when Hannibal opens it, his own scent wafts out to greet him.

He climbs inside, and Hannibal smiles, and leans down to kiss him once more before he closes it. The engine rumbles to life soon after, and Will curls up in the darkness, and wonders if, even now, his den mother has called Agent Crawford, frantic over Will's disappearance. If there will be a hunt for him. How long before they make any kind of connection between Hannibal's jailbreak and his own abduction.

He bites his lower lip, shifting his weight and rolling onto his back, his hands trailing absently over his own body as he tries to calm it down from the hormone-addled fog it so eagerly sank into. His thighs are soaking wet, his stomach giving impotent little twitches as he ruts the heel of his hand over his caged cock, the leather belt cinched tight around his hips and between his legs that would stop an alpha penetrating him.

He thinks of Hannibal ripping it apart with his teeth, and smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

Realistically, Will knows that he should try to calm himself down. If they pass any checkpoint or crowded area, the scent of a leaking omega, seeping from the trunk of Hannibal's car, is sure to draw attention. But he can't help himself – the longer he fidgets in the darkness, the more the situation catches up with him.

It's insane. He's just willingly given himself over to a killer – a killer who intends to fuck him and keep him 'in whatever way he desires', and Will climbed into the trunk of his Goddamn car and he's going to be taken somewhere, anywhere, he never asked and Hannibal never told him, and it's been hours and he can't stop _touching _himself.

He's never really cared that much about being in chastity – at most it was a logistical pain to try going to the bathroom, but once he figured that part out the rest was easier. And it served its purpose as a means to stop alphas trying to take advantage of him, meant he didn't lose his precious virginity before his father found him a suitable mate. He has often wondered, absently, if his father and Agent Crawford had some kind of arrangement to find Will a suitable alpha once he presented. If even now Agent Crawford has a file of alphas that would be assigned to him, to soothe him through his heats and make sure he was kept safe until he mated. If maybe one of those alphas was intended for him.

It doesn't matter how – he's given himself entirely to Hannibal, and his body knows it.

He can't stop touching – he flattens a hand over his mouth and his other one ruts between his legs, pushing uselessly at the strip of leather running from his cock cage, between his thighs, to the belt around his hips. It's broad, and can be detached to allow him to go to the bathroom, but the mechanism is meant to lock up and tighten when it feels omega slick, to prevent him getting carried away and spreading his legs for just anyone.

When Hannibal takes it off, he'll have to use his teeth, his strong hands tearing through the material to get where he wants. Maybe he'll rip it clean off. Maybe he'll twist and push it to one side and use Will just like that, chafing and bruising his sensitive skin until he cries.

He ruts his knuckles over his hole, whimpering quietly against his palm. He rolls, as he feels the car start to slow, a brief judder as the wheels go over the anti-drift furrows on the side of the road, and then an exit ramp, tilted sharply up. He can see just enough in the hem of the trunk to know that it's dark outside – it was already night when he was taken, and not that much time has passed.

The car rumbles to a stop, and the engine dies, and Will holds his breath, because if they're around people he shouldn't give himself away. He hears Hannibal's footsteps, light and steady, circling the car. Hears the door slam. Hears the trunk disengage and blinks owlishly as it opens.

Hannibal's nostrils flare immediately, his eyes bright and red as he rakes his gaze over Will, taking in his flushed, sweaty, trembling state. His lips twitch into a pleased smile, and he leans in and hooks his hands under Will's arms, helping him out of the trunk to his unsteady feet.

"Bathroom break," he murmurs, nuzzling Will's sweat-damp hair. Will nods, and shivers as Hannibal puts a hand on the small of his back, closing the trunk and leading him towards the bathrooms. The bathrooms are separated by gender, but also secondary assignment – alphas, betas, omegas, and then again by men and women. There's a poster on the omega male door listing the signs and a phone number to call for suspected sex trafficking, and Will swallows harshly as Hannibal leads him into that bathroom and lets the door shut behind them.

There is a wall of three urinals, and three stalls behind them along the other wall. The place is surprisingly clean, low-lit with those energy-efficient bulbs tracked through the ceiling. One of the sinks is dripping, and without thinking about it Will goes to it and pushes the handle all the way back so it stops.

Hannibal lets out a low rumble, and threads a hand through his hair. Will's lashes fall, flutter closed, and he whines as Hannibal's chest presses tight to his back. In the mirror, Will can see just how much bigger the alpha is, totally eclipsing Will's body.

Hannibal breathes in, and runs his nose through Will's hair again, taking a greedy inhale of his scent. His hands flex, flatten on Will's biceps, petting down to his wrists, and Will whimpers and arches against him, desperately rutting his body against Hannibal's as tight as he can.

When it leaves him, Hannibal's exhale is heavy, shaken and wanting, his eyes red, scent growing thick with arousal, his cock hard and pressing against the small of Will's back. Will meets his eyes in the mirror, knows he looks ravished already, his cheeks red and his mouth parted around frantic little gasps.

"Poor thing," Hannibal purrs, smiling wide and nipping lightly at the red arch of Will's ear. "You're so worked up, darling. We won't be able to pass the border with you smelling like that."

"I'm sorry," Will whispers, shivering as one of Hannibal's hands releases his arm, flattens over his racing heart, pulling him back further. "I can't help it."

Hannibal hums. "It's not unheard of for an omega to present early in the presence of a compatible mate," he murmurs, like he's speaking mostly to himself. He sounds pleased about that, though, and it settles Will's franticness somewhat, knowing he's making his alpha happy. He tilts his head up and back, his free arm lifting to cup Hannibal's face. Hannibal growls into their kiss, his body rolling like it, too, cannot resist, pressing Will with more force to the edge of the sink.

"I want you inside me," Will whispers, for it seems ridiculous to pretend he doesn't. Hannibal's pupils grow wide, utterly black within the ring of red, and Will moans when he feels Hannibal's cock twitch and thicken further against his body. But he wants it, feverishly; wants Hannibal in his head and his heart and his body.

The rumble in Hannibal's chest is powerful, and his hands flex on Will. "It would be improper to mount you without sending your dowry to your father," he replies. "I would never do you or him the disservice of ruining something that isn't mine to ruin."

Will flushes, swallows loudly. He's so shaken with need he's finding it hard to breathe; Hannibal's scent is choking him, flooding him, and another gush of slick leaks out and pools against his chastity belt when Hannibal nuzzles his neck.

Hannibal smiles. "How much do you think he would ask for, Will?" he purrs, kissing wide and warm over Will's fluttering pulse. "A sweet, perfectly untouched boy like you, with such invaluable gifts. Fifty thousand? Sixty? One hundred?"

Will gasps. Short of royalty no number would even be considered in his neck of the woods. An omega's dowry in his hometown would scarcely go above ten thousand. If his father were brave and tried to sell him to Agent Crawford, he might demand twenty, but certainly no more than that.

"Not a hundred," Will replies weakly, though he can't deny the thought of Hannibal offering so much, so cavalierly, only reminds him how powerful and wealthy Hannibal is. How strong, how capable. "I'm not -. That's so much."

Hannibal's smile is wolfish and wide, and he turns Will abruptly, lifting him to the edge of the sink and planting himself between Will's thighs. The insides of Will's jeans and underwear are utterly soaked, a dark stain dripping down to his knees, and Hannibal looks down at it, his eyes narrowed and black-red, his lip twitching up into a hungry snarl.

Will's wide eyes rake down his heaving chest, his strong arms, the thick line of his cock obvious in his stolen slacks. He feels weak, trembling with desire, and paws at Hannibal gracelessly, pulling him closer. "Please," he whispers. "I don't care about that. I want you. Now."

"I know," Hannibal says roughly. His hands dig at Will's jeans, pulling the loose waistband down, his underwear dragging with it, baring his cock cage and leather chastity belt, shining with his slick. Hannibal's lips part, slowly pulling in another greedy breath, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, deftly lifting the cage and pushing the blade under it, behind Will's balls. He slices through the wet leather easily and it flops to the counter with a loud, wet sound, Will so slick that he hears himself dripping onto the floor like fresh blood.

"Oh, _God_," he breathes, panting when Hannibal pockets his knife again. The idea of Hannibal ripping his chastity from him with his teeth was an enticing one, but knowing his alpha had a knife the entire time, seeing him acting so careless and controlled, ignites him in a way he wasn't prepared for. He presses to his slim, sunken belly, feels raw and hungry in a way he never has before. He grabs at Hannibal and rears up to kiss him and Hannibal laughs, cradles his nape and licks into his mouth with a low growl.

When they part for air, Will meets Hannibal's eyes, feels the raw presence of his mind sidle up against his own; feels, smells, Hannibal's desire for him, that sharp-edged curiosity turning into burning want. He gasps, and swallows loudly, and paws at Hannibal's shirt with a desperation he's sure he would be ashamed of under any other circumstances. But Hannibal is not a man known for his shame, and as a result, Will doesn't feel it either.

Hannibal's nostrils flare, as another bud of slick leaks from Will's ass, drips down the shorn piece of leather and onto the floor between Hannibal's feet. He looks down, hands flattening on Will's pale, slim thighs, and breathes in again.

"You are the most tempting thing I have ever seen," he confesses, and thumbs in, dragging feather-light across Will's virgin-pink hole. Will whimpers, and spreads his legs as wide as he can, tilts his hips up to show his alpha more.

Hannibal snarls, and drops to his knees in the pool of slick, leans in and licks, broad and wide and _hot_, over Will's leaking hole. Will shrieks, legs tightening, hands flying to his alpha's hair as Hannibal tastes him, growling low and loud, his tongue sinking into Will and forcing his rim to part. It's the most Will has ever had inside him and it feels amazing, his little flaccid cock twitching and dribbling precum over Hannibal's forehead and the bridge of his nose.

Hannibal hoists Will's legs over his broad shoulders, grips his ass and lifts him from the sink so he can taste more of Will. Will arches, head falling against the mirror with a solid _thunk_, gripping Hannibal's hair tightly as he convulses and comes, gushing slick and leaking come from his cock. Hannibal lets out a pleased little sound, edges his teeth to Will's rim, licks thick and strong between his legs as Will coats his tongue and mouth.

Will whimpers, seeing stars as Hannibal keeps tasting him, can feel Hannibal's mind whirling. Absently considers, in a thought he's not sure is his own or his alpha's, using his slick as a glaze for their meat. Putting it in the wine along with his sweat and blood and tears. Smoked, raw, a drizzle on fat-rich ribeye or slow-roasted thigh cuts.

"Hannibal, _please_," he whimpers, vision blurring at the edges as Hannibal continues to gorge himself on the sweetness Will's body is so eager to provide. "Please, inside, _inside_ -."

Hannibal stands, his cheeks and jaw wet, and kisses Will again, feeding his own taste back to him. Will whines again, he can't see it, but he hears Hannibal unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks, hears the rustle of falling fabric. Will laps, helpless and so thirsty he can barely think, paws at Hannibal's ruffled hair and groans loudly as he feels Hannibal's thick cockhead push and wet itself between Will's thighs.

"Please," he gasps again, moaning weakly as Hannibal nudges him back, until his head hits the mirror again, pins him with forehead and brushing nose and snarling mouth. Hannibal is a sea of red in his dark vision, his teeth a prickle-point of pain in Will's lip that does nothing to distract him from the hard, unrelenting press of Hannibal's cockhead.

Hannibal does not penetrate him. He stiffens, snarls, grips Will's hips to stop his frantic rutting and pins him with his gaze. "Steady, darling," he purrs, smiling when Will can only stare and whine and graze his nails along Hannibal's strong shoulders. "It'll hurt if I go too fast. You're very small."

And Will knows, immediately, that Hannibal wants to hurt him. He wants Will to beg him for it. If Hannibal cannot kill him, cannot gut and devour him, will not snap his neck or skin him alive, he will have his pound of flesh another way. Will is so slick he doubts he'd tear, but it will hurt, he knows it will. Hannibal's cockhead already feels so huge, he's sure the rest of him with split Will apart, fill and flood that gaping maw of emptiness in his own belly.

He wants it so badly he can't breathe. But he also knows this is surface-level desire. This is not the kind of thing that warrants jailbreaks and kidnapping. Hannibal wants to hurt him, he wants Will to want to be hurt, but Will can play games too. He did not seduce Hannibal by being young and virginal and desperate and submissive; it is his mind, his insight, his way of looking at the world Hannibal truly wants, and it's what Will must give him if he wants Hannibal in return.

So he swallows and tries to calm his racing heart, flattens his hands warm and wide as he can on Hannibal's biceps, which still bulge and are tight from holding Will up on the edge of the sink. He leans up and kisses, licking brazen over his alpha's tender throat. Monsters like Hannibal do not yield for just anyone, and he shivers with a darker, vindicated pleasure when Hannibal readily allows it.

"Just a little, then," he purrs, and smiles when Hannibal's body answers with a powerful shiver. Hannibal's head turns, nudges his precum-sticky nose to Will's throat, spreading their mixed scents. Will likes smelling himself on Hannibal's skin. He reaches down, wraps his fingers around Hannibal's thick cock and swallows when his fingers can't touch at all around the girth of it. _Christ_, putting that inside him will feel so fucking good, splitting him apart.

Hannibal's fingers curl, nails digging into his skinny hips as Will rubs his cockhead against his slick hole. He can feel how his body wants to yield, wants to open to him and let his alpha inside so badly. His stomach tenses up sharply around its own emptiness and it's getting hard to breathe again.

"Just the tip," he adds, closing his eyes as Hannibal opens his jaws wide on Will's neck, bites large enough that if he were to press down he'd rip Will's throat out. It encases the entirely of his pulse, makes it flutter weakly in his throat. That's where Hannibal will put a mating bite, when it suits him, if he ever decides to go that far.

He wets his lips and pulls back so he can meet Hannibal's black eyes. He pets, tenderly, over Hannibal's forehead, pushing his sweat-damp hair from his face. "You'll need to cover me with your scent to hide me across the border," he says, slinging Hannibal's words back at him. Watches his eyes flash with pleased understanding, his nostrils flare. He smiles, lopsided and wide. "What better way than inside me, tainting my slick, making sure I'm only dripping you when the border patrol investigates your car?"

Hannibal snarls, and steps back, yanking Will from the sink. Will gasps, forfeiting his hold, and whines when Hannibal turns him, pressing him to his belly on the counter. The edges of the sink dig into his ribs and a hand goes to his hair, hauling him up so he has to meet Hannibal's eyes in the mirror.

Hannibal smiles at him, feral and fine, and leans down so their faces are level in the mirror. Will looks a mess, he can openly admit that, flushed and shivering and coated with sweat. Hannibal smiles at their reflections, pets down Will's nape and cinches his fingers tight.

"You are absolutely monstrous, aren't you darling?" he purrs, and Will shivers, gasping as he feels Hannibal's thick cock rut beneath the strip of leather between his thighs. It feels like something stolen, something secret, and Hannibal's other hand cups his hip and lifts Will to his toes.

Before Will can answer, he feels it; feels Hannibal's cock pushing against his rim, so slick it slips and butts against the base of his cage, making his sensitive flesh sing. He groans helplessly, reaches back to hold Hannibal steady as he tries again, a single roll of his hips and a gentle, stilted thrust, and then he pushes past Will's rim, stretching him _so _wide, and Will's vision whites out.

It only takes an inch, a thrust, for him to come again, screaming as he collapses and jerks under Hannibal's weight. His alpha is so big, so strong, he easily holds Will in place as he kicks helplessly at the floor, toes scuffing, his entire body clamping down around the thick flesh inside him.

Hannibal snarls, lashes dipping in a slow blink as he savors the feeling of Will tightening around him. He pulls back, almost all the way out, his bulging cockhead stretching Will wide, and rides the desperate clench of Will's body back into him, so shallow, not enough, Will needs it _deeper_. He feels Hannibal widen his stance, fucks forward another inch, and it's already so big, Will feels his muscles tighten and forced to yield around his girth.

"God, _please_, Hannibal," he gasps, panting, groans loudly as Hannibal flattens a hand over the front of his throat, holding him upright. Will has no leverage, no ability to push back into Hannibal's thrusts, can only lie there and take it, moaning helpless and loud and wanton as he's split apart on Hannibal's cock. But he thinks Hannibal likes that, too – likes how desperately Will wants it, likes that he'll take what Hannibal gives him, no more, no less.

Hannibal growls, and holds him fast, pulling back and fucking in again, hard enough to make Will spasm despite the shallowness. He can feel, inside himself, some building heat, tearing at his belly, demanding deeper, _harder_. He wants it so badly he can barely see, hardly breathe, just let his air out in a chorus of desperate moans and harsh growls as Hannibal works himself in and out, smooth for how slick Will is, but not enough, not enough -. "Fuck, _Hannibal_."

Hannibal snarls, and rears up, planting a hand on Will's back, his other hand stroking what he hasn't buried in Will's slick ass. "Stay still," he commands, and Will goes lax with another whimper. He wants to bow his head and close his eyes, but more than that, he wants to watch his alpha come inside him.

It's beautiful to watch. Hannibal's jaw goes slack, his chin lifts. His throat flexes as he swallows harshly, and then he pulls out, spilling thick wads of come over the belt around Will's waist, down the leather, between his thighs and coating his hole. He pushes the cut flap up, covering Will's pale skin with his come, and then he finishes, with a final push, inside Will, making Will gasp, his insides fluttering around the intrusion. The last few spurts are weak, but warm, and he shivers as Hannibal lets him settle on his feet, and both his hands drag up Will's sweaty back, below his shirt and sweater, and Hannibal leans over him and nuzzles the nape of his neck.

Hannibal smiles, purring openly, and pulls Will's ruined clothes back up to his hips, petting his heaving flanks. "Next time," he whispers, dark with promise, "I'll give you what you really want."

Will swallows, nodding weakly. He knows they really don't have time for a proper knotting, and if Hannibal wants to wait until he's paid Will's father off, Will cannot fault him for sticking to convention. The idea of so much money being exchanged over his body would make him angry, simply for the implication that he's something to be bought and traded, but God, it's so _much_ money, and that Hannibal thinks he's worth that much makes him shiver in undeniable pleasure.

"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Hannibal asks, drawing Will back to the present.

Will shakes his head. He didn't eat much before he was taken and he's too dehydrated to have to pee. He straightens as Hannibal kisses his neck, turns on the sink and cups his hand below the water, drinking a handful.

"Come, darling," Hannibal murmurs, and when Will finishes and turns, Hannibal's clothes have been corrected, only a stain where he leaked precum suggesting they did anything untoward in the bathroom. Will, in comparison, is a soaked and quivering mess, but he's Hannibal's mess, and he's sure that anyone who looks at the car will only smell Hannibal, and nothing of Will underneath.

He finishes correcting his clothes, guiding the strip of leather back between his legs so that it, too, will be soaked with his alpha's come, and Hannibal smiles at him, takes his hand and leads him back out to the car. It's just past three in the morning, Will guesses, from the position of the moon and stars, and he smiles as Hannibal opens the trunk and he climbs back in.

His body is sated and sore, alight with pleasure, and when Hannibal leans down and kisses him, purring loudly, Will gives a little rumble of his own. "Be quiet, and be still," Hannibal commands him, and Will nods, curling up as Hannibal shuts the car over him again, sealing him in darkness. He doesn't touch himself this time, so sensitive and raw he can't bear it, but he's content, surrounded by the scent of himself and his alpha.

He falls asleep to the rumble of the engine, and the gentle rocks of the car as Hannibal pulls from the parking space, merges onto the highway, and drives on.


	3. Chapter 3

Will sleeps, and Hannibal drives on, for so long that when the car finally slows to a halt, and he hears Hannibal exit the vehicle, he stirs with a sleepy rumble and blinks slowly when the trunk opens, revealing Hannibal in the pretty light of the next dusk. He doesn't know where they are, but he doesn't particularly care either.

Hannibal leans down, petting through his mussed hair, and helps him to his feet. Will is starving, shaky, thirsty and sore, and he relies on his alpha to keep him upright as Hannibal shuts the trunk of the car and helps him around so Will can see where Hannibal has brought him.

It's a cabin, familiar in an absent way to the kinds of places his father would take him on their fishing trips. It's a two-story, the bottom half of the house made of stone, with stairs leading up to the front porch and the house proper, the outside of which is composed of thick wooden logs.

The windows are dark and it's clear no one has been here for some time. Will manages to walk under his own strength as they approach the stairs. Will goes up them first, his fingers trailing through the thick layer of sap and pollen and dust clinging to the rail. Hannibal follows him up, and they go through the front door. The inside of the cabin is freezing cold, and Will shivers as Hannibal turns on the light and lets him see the room more clearly.

It's an intimate space, a thick greenish couch set in the back corner of the living room, next to a doorway that he can see vaguely kitchen-like cabinets through. There is a fireplace to his right, against the outside wall, a stag's head mounted above it. A little coffee table sits in the middle of the couch and a circle of comfortable-looking chairs.

Hannibal touches his shoulder once the door closes, and gestures for him to turn left, where there is a narrow hallway, three doors within, two of them closed. The third leads to what Will guesses is the master bedroom, a wide bed dominating the space, covered in a white sheet like what they put on furniture to shield it from paint. The walls are not painted or plastered on the inside, giving the space a dark, wooded feeling, like they've made a cave for themselves in the middle of the forest like wildlings.

Hannibal smiles at him, and takes his hand, leading Will through another door in the bedroom, to the master bathroom suite. It's tiled in rotating lines of peach and white, quite an eyesore in his opinion, but he senses this is not meant to be their permanent stopping point – merely a spot in which to rest, recover, and plan their next move.

There's a shower stall, but also a separate bathtub set into the back wall, that looks large enough to fit three men Hannibal's size, and is very deep. He shivers as Hannibal pets through his hair, and kisses his temple.

"Why don't you take a bath and relax," he suggests quietly, and Will nods. "I have to go dispose of the car, and work on warming the place up."

Will swallows, and turns to look at him. "I don't want to leave you," he says, and feels foolish and childish for saying so. He doesn't think Hannibal would just leave him behind, after all, but the idea of his alpha being gone puts him ill at ease.

Hannibal's smile is fond, small, but brightens his eyes. He cups Will's face and kisses him deep and long enough for Will's knees to go weak. "I'll be back before you know it, darling, I promise," he purrs. "But the car would have been registered at the border guard. I need to leave it somewhere safe until we're ready to move on."

Will sighs, but cannot deny it's the right thing to do. He nods, and lets Hannibal go, swallows back his pathetic little whimper as the door closes behind him. He shifts his weight, and starts the bath, the water momentarily grey before it clears, and he plugs the bottom of the basin and sheds his clothes as the air fills with steam.

He looks down at himself, wincing. Only Agent Crawford and Will's father know the combination to the lock on his cage, as far as he's aware, and he wishes he could take it off. He's never tried, but he doubts he has the strength or the leverage to do it himself, and doesn't have the patience to just brute-force figure out the combination. His skin is tacky with dried come and slick, his jaw sticky with drool from when he slept in the car.

He turns on the sink faucet and lets the water clear there, too, before he bows his head and swallows a mouthful. The water is somewhat tangy, metallic, and he grimaces and turns the sink off again, wiping over his face. He'll have to ask if that's normal, or if the water is safe to drink here.

He finishes with divesting himself of everything he can take off, and then climbs over the high lip of the bath, settling into the scalding water with a sigh. The tub is long enough that he could completely submerge himself if he wanted, and he turns off the running water and settles his arms on the lips of the tub, huffing when it proves difficult, given how low he has to sit.

He kicks absently, noting there is no shampoo or body wash to really clean up with. But that's alright; he doesn't want to really rid himself of Hannibal's scent, just enough to wash the car smell off him and make himself feel clean.

He hears a low humming sound as the heating kicks on, and then the front door closes, and there's a rumble of gravel as Hannibal gets in the car and drives away.

Will sighs, closing his eyes and tipping his head back to rest on the lip of the tub, his arms falling into the water as he absently pets over his body, scratching the cooled layer of come and slick from his skin. He works his fingers under the ring of his cock cage, cleaning himself up as best he can, and lets his head slip under water for a brief moment so that he can comb his fingers through his hair, cleaning himself there, too.

He entertains himself wondering what his den mother and Agent Crawford might be doing. Maybe there's an amber alert out for him. Maybe he's combing through the place Will was last spotted – the library, or outside his dorm building. Maybe he's found the phone Will dropped, recognizes Hannibal's scent in the grass and on the wind.

He smiles to himself. It would have been thrilling, to know it was Hannibal from the start, to catch his alpha's scent and known he's been hunted, chased, trapped. His body trembles with a powerful shiver, he bites his lower lip and presses his thighs together in an instinctive grab for control as his hand slips lower.

But that hesitation is quickly overcome – he doesn't have to stop himself, now. He's been bared, pushed open, stained on the inside. He hikes a leg up, knee breaching the water, and tentatively touches his sore, tender hole. The water and his slick and Hannibal's come are all different types of wetness on his finger, and he bites his lower lip harder, wanting desperately to push one inside himself. He's free to, finally allowed to explore and figure out what he likes, sate the harsh, gasping emptiness that sits low in his own belly. He's free to put as much inside his body as he wants, to be stretched and open and leaking.

He strokes over his hole with all his fingers, shivering at the little tingles of electricity that run up his spine, but does not push in. It doesn't feel as good as Hannibal's tongue did, as his cock did, and it's that thought that stops him. It's not shame, but the knowledge that his body will soon wholly belong to his alpha, and it's his alpha's duty and right to make use of it as he sees fit.

Hannibal may give Will permission, later, to touch and spread himself wide and see how much he can take, but Hannibal's pathology does not allow his pride to suffer the insult of being second place.

It feels childish and ridiculous to miss Hannibal already, but he does; his chest burns with longing and his head feels too heavy without Hannibal's strong hands holding him up. He whines, pathetic and plaintive, knowing Hannibal cannot hear him. They have no phones, no means to communicate with each other. He just has to sit here and wait.

He sighs, forcing the thought from his mind, forcing his fingers away from his hole. He finishes cleaning himself up, and then pulls the plug out of the bathtub, standing and dripping as it drains. There is a set of fluffy beige towels hanging on a rack, and he takes one and dries himself off, knowing the rest of the house is cold and he would do well not to let any water linger, lest he get sick or feel colder than he should.

He drags the towel roughly over his hair, and then hangs it back up, going to the bedroom and turning off the bathroom light, but leaving the fan running to help dissipate the steam. The central heating is doing an admirable job of warming up the space, and the sheet from the bed has been removed, baring a duvet cover and pillows the color of soft gold, threaded with black. He smiles at the sight of it and clambers on, eagerly slipping between the cool sheets. He shivers, and curls up tightly on himself to warm up as quickly as possible, and closes his eyes.

He doesn't know how much time has passed, but it's dark outside when he hears Hannibal return. He sits up as the door opens, and Hannibal enters, a phone at his ear and a warm smile on his face when he sees Will, bare and pale amidst the covers.

"A pleasure, Mister Graham. Have a good night," Hannibal says, and Will's eyes widen. There's a bag slung over Hannibal's shoulders and he unhooks it, setting it down on the floor by the bed, along with his burner phone.

He takes off his jacket, folds it neatly and sets it on top as well, and Will finally finds his voice; "You were talking to my father?"

"Agent Crawford had contacted him, in case your disappearance was no more suspicious than that of a child running away from the pressures of school," Hannibal replies. Will frowns, bares his teeth at the assumption that he wouldn't be able to handle his education, no matter what kind of 'pressures' he was put under – and they were many, and constant, and unyielding. "I reassured him that you were safe, and taken care of, and of course, arranged for your dowry to be wired to him first thing."

Will swallows, fingers clenching in the sheets as Hannibal circles the bed. His eyes are black in the low light, only the moon giving Will any indication of where he is, but he leans into the warm hand on his cheek and the soft nuzzle pushed into his hair. Hannibal breathes in, and lets out a soft rumble of satisfaction, finding Will clean, but still undeniably coated with his scent.

"It will be settled in a matter of hours," Hannibal promises, "but I cannot wait until then. I will have you now."

Will nods eagerly, pushing the blankets down to his knees. Hannibal crouches by the bed, tugging on him until Will's legs hang off the edge of it. He shivers, slickening quickly at the muscle memory of the last time Hannibal went to his knees; his hot, wet tongue drinking Will's slick, his low growls, the feeling of his hair in Will's hands.

A flash of silver in the moonlight tells Will Hannibal has gotten his knife back out. He feels it skate along his skin, a kiss as cold as ice, and he shudders and tries to keep as still as possible as Hannibal follows the knife's kiss with his own, lips soft and warm and creating lingering patches of heat on Will's thighs.

"How much?" he asks, because he can't help himself. He wants to know how much his father dared ask for. Wants to know how much Hannibal willingly gave.

Hannibal pauses, and lifts his head, smiles up at Will and fits the knife under the side of his chastity belt. "Guess," he purrs, and punctuates the word with a swift cut through the soft, wet leather. Will gasps, whimpering as he feels it come free, and Hannibal kisses his pink, sensitive skin along his hip. Inside him, that emptiness grows, gnashing its teeth, desperate for something to fill it.

Will swallows harshly, staring into Hannibal's eyes as Hannibal smiles at him. His knife drags, tip of it stinging, almost absently across Will's belly, following the snapped line of his belt, to the other side. "Most omegas in my town would go for around ten grand," he whispers. Hannibal's expression gives nothing away, but he presses the flat of the blade on Will's skin, below the other side of his belt. "I figured, you know, Agent Crawford's a Government man, he could probably afford more." And he knows it's too small a number to suggest before he even says it, but; "Twenty-five?"

Hannibal laughs at his guess, and cuts again. "No," he says, no inflection to tell Will just _how _big his margin of error is. He kisses Will's hip as he did before, on the other side, catching a slip of raw skin between his teeth and tugging, until Will whines, thighs tensing up, and feels himself grow impossibly wetter, staining the bedsheets beneath him.

With the halves of the belt cut, Hannibal easily removes the flap between Will's legs, leaving him only in his cock cage and a single piece of leather across his lower stomach. He rolls the ends of it so it's a knot of leather above his cock, and carefully eases his blade at the base.

"Guess again," he murmurs.

Will sucks in a breath, and can tell Hannibal is getting off on his purchase as much as Will. "Fifty?"

Hannibal smiles, and cuts, severing the last of the leather from Will's cage. "Wrong again," he purrs. "I think you're underestimating just how much your dear father cared about you, darling."

"Fifty is an insane number," Will argues weakly, as Hannibal sets the knife down and rises to his full height. Christ, he's _huge_, and as he's sitting he can smell, practically taste Hannibal's precum in the air. He grabs at his alpha's hips and urges him closer between Will's thighs. "You didn't really give him a hundred, did you?"

Hannibal laughs, and takes Will by the throat, firmly gripping him and easing him onto his back on the bed. He pauses, and then leans down, kissing Will passionately as Will gasps and arches up against him. Then, Hannibal rises, and releases him. Will knows he's meant to stay down, and he watches, panting and soaked, as Hannibal goes to turn on the light.

It's a low, forgiving golden light that floods the room, and Will blinks as Hannibal turns. His eyes rake Will up and down, black and filled with monsters, and he begins to unbutton his shirt as he returns to Will on the bed.

"There is a particular breed of cattle, called the Blonde d'Aquitaine," he tells Will, his voice going low, rougher as he approaches. Will swallows, and doesn't fight the urge to spread his thighs, brace his ankles on the edge of the bed as Hannibal finishes with his shirt, shrugging it off and letting it drop to the floor like its existence no longer concerns him. "Despite it being one of the most popular breeds in France, there is a Parisian butcher who specially rears a select stock. A single seven-ounce ribeye steak from one of those animals can be sold for over three thousand dollars."

He smiles, widely, and rests a hand on Will's knee, flattening broad and warm, sliding in. "And yet, I cannot converse with a cow. Cannot touch one the way I want to touch you. Could not taste the sweetness you provide on something meant to be butchered and eaten. You are easily worth a hundred times that price."

It's getting hard to think, but still Will manages to gasp; "Three hundred _thousand_?"

Hannibal's smile holds teeth, and he drags his hand down, presses his thumb to the base of Will's caged cock, which is trying its best to harden, pressing against the edges of the cage. He whimpers, lifting his hips, desperate for his alpha to penetrate him. Hannibal's arousal is recognizable to him now, clogs his throat and fills his head with fire and claws.

Hannibal lets him squirm, forces him through another long, long moment of suffering, before he purrs, "Five, Will. I gave him five."

For a split second, Will can only stare. _Five hundred thousand dollars_, for him. Hannibal paid that for him, without breaking a sweat. And then he can't stay still anymore. He surges upright and claws at Hannibal's chest, up to his neck, tugging frantically, and moans when Hannibal kisses him. His body jolts, clenches, gushes slick and he feels Hannibal snarl in answer, his big hands cupping Will's thighs and lifting him easily as Hannibal climbs onto the bed, and lays him down in the center of it.

Will is blind, rabid with need. His alpha is so powerful, so capable, that amount of money would keep his father comfortable for life, buy his silence, buy his peace of mind. He's weak with gratitude, with awe. He wants his alpha inside him, wants to know what it's like to bear the brunt of someone cruel enough, wanting enough, to claim his body and not give a damn about anything it took to do it.

He's so wet that his thighs slip together, his hands slide over Hannibal's shoulders, and Hannibal's thick thighs push his own apart, spreading him wide. He's huge, could easily flatten and smother Will beneath his weight, and Will whimpers and bares his throat as Hannibal teethes at his neck, bites over his rushing pulse.

Hannibal laughs, and pets two fingers over Will's wet hole. "Does that make you happy, darling?" he purrs, smug and vicious with victory, because he can probably smell just how _happy _Will is. Will can only whimper, and remembers the promise he made to himself, to his alpha;

Hannibal wants him, but he wants Will to want it too. Wants Will to beg to be hurt, to be taken, to be claimed.

"Don't," he whispers, wrapping a hand around Hannibal's wrist before he can work his fingers inside. "I want it to hurt. I want you to rip me apart."

Hannibal's eyes flash, and meet his own. His lips twitch in an aborted snarl. Oh, he wants to. Will can see how much he wants to.

"Please," he adds, shifting forward so Hannibal has to settle on his heels, give Will room to tug at the button and zipper of his slacks, free his hard cock and wrap his fingers around its massive girth. "This is what you do, isn't it? You claim your kills – they're yours, to do with as you see fit. Use me. I want you to."

Hannibal's nostrils flare. He nudges their foreheads together, looks down at where Will is gripping him, enthralled by just how big he is in Will's small hands.

"Make me yours, Hannibal," Will pleads, kissing breathlessly at his jaw, his lower lip, his chin, his throat. "Make me take it and beg you for more."

Hannibal snarls, and cups Will's neck, kissing him fiercely. He lifts Will with his other hand and ends their kiss, rolling Will to his belly. Will moans weakly, lifting his hips up at Hannibal's coaxing, shivering at the feeling of his slick pouring down his legs. Hannibal pauses only a moment to rid himself of his slacks and underwear, and then he's back, bare and hot and hard, and crushes a hand on Will's nape, keeping his face pressed to the mattress.

"You may come to regret your own impatience, darling," he growls, "but who am I to deny you?"

He leans down, and drags his teeth up Will's spine in a way that makes him arch with another frantic whimper, clawing at the edge of the mattress beneath the pillows, lifting his hips up higher until he feels Hannibal's chest hair rubbing against his ass. Hannibal bites, shallow and soft, and wraps his other hand beneath Will's belly to hold him up as he ruts his cock through Will's slick, the angle easier this way, to find Will's hole and push inside him.

Will howls, and just like in the public bathroom, he comes from just the head of Hannibal's cock breaching him, splitting him wide. Without Hannibal's tongue or fingers, it feels like so much more, his inner muscles fluttering around the girth. But Hannibal does not slow, does not stop, this time. He snarls and digs his nails into Will's stomach, into his nape, keeping him pinned and helpless as he pushes in another inch.

It's so much, so big, Will whines and clenches his eyes shut, pain shocking through him at the massive intrusion. His slick helps, and even through the pain he can feel the feverish pawing of his own emptiness, clamoring to be filled. He flattens one hand over Hannibal's on his belly, fingers lacing, wanting to feel the exact moment Hannibal fills him up.

Hannibal shivers, spreads his knees to cage Will's legs together, and pulls back, fucking in again and breaching another inch, and Will gasps, tears spilling from behind his eyelids before he can stop them. He moans in pain, in delirious pleasure, convulsing like he's going into shock as Hannibal forces himself _deeper_.

He feels his body open, pried apart like stubborn hinges, his hips aching at the stretch of Hannibal between them, his shoulders burning from bearing their shared weight.

He doesn't know how much more of Hannibal he can take, but then the thought is driven from him, as Hannibal grips him tightly and thrusts in all the way, sharp and impatient and eager, and Will's vision whites out. He screams, hoarse and loud, feels the bulge of Hannibal's cockhead against his own palm, feels Hannibal butt up against his cervix and split the opening wide around the head. It hurts, a deep blooming ache that he feels all up his spine, but he's not empty anymore, and he sobs at how _good _it feels to finally be so full.

Hannibal releases his stomach, and melts over him with a growl, pinning Will to the bed and kissing his wild, sweat-damp hair. He's big enough to totally eclipse Will, fucking him like a doll, and Will shivers and claws at the mattress, kicks out in vain, every muscle in him tense and fluttering around his alpha's cock.

"Oh God," he whimpers. "Big, it's so much, _Hannibal_, please!"

Hannibal licks at the tears on his red cheeks, purring in delight. "Such a sweet boy," he purrs, rutting against Will's ass, his hips pressing powerfully. Will feels like he might grind to dust under Hannibal's burning weight. He whimpers, clawing at his own hair, frantically baring his neck as Hannibal kisses across his shoulders. Every push of their bodies drives Hannibal deep inside him, he's barely even thrusting but Will can't fit both Hannibal and air inside him.

It aches, it _hurts_, and it's so good Will can only sob.

"Please," he begs. "Fuck me."

Hannibal stiffens, a low rumble caught in his chest, but he obeys, a smooth roll of his hips pulling him back, leaving Will gaping and raw, before he fucks in again and Will's stomach bulges with the size of him. Will moans raggedly, sweating and shaking in earnest, he's so wet it feels like he's bleeding out, he's so weak and wanting he can't see. He paws gracelessly at his own caged cock, wishing he could touch himself.

Hannibal notices, and kisses his ear. "Your father told me the combination to the lock," he whispers. One of his hands creeps down, able to completely cup the cage and Will's balls in one hand. He thumbs at the padlock keeping the cage locked, drags a nail across one of the rotating number pins almost absently.

"Please," Will gasps, nodding frantically. "I'll do anything, I'll be good for you, just take it off."

Hannibal laughs, the motion jolting Will's body from every point of contact. His back burns from Hannibal's chest hair, his spine feels heavy and stuck in a perma-curve from the slope of Hannibal's stomach. His neck aches for a bite, for _something_, God, he needs to open up _somewhere _or he's going to burst.

"You'll do anything?" he purrs. Cruel. Low.

"_Yes_."

Hannibal's answering rumble is thick with pride, and he kisses over Will's fluttering pulse. "I will," he promises. "When it suits me."

Will sobs, bowing his head, rutting back onto Hannibal's cock as Hannibal continues with his slow, lazy thrusts. "I'll do whatever you want," he gasps, and he knows it's true, he knows Hannibal knows it too. He's wretched with it, hiccupping little whimpers punched from his lungs whenever Hannibal bottoms out. "I'll – I'll breed for you. Kill for you. You can knot me and fuck me whenever you want, hurt me if you want, just _please_."

Hannibal growls, and flattens a hand over Will's mouth, and he can't breathe. "We'll see," he replies, and Will can't answer except to scream as Hannibal widens his knees, tightens a hand on Will's hip, and starts a brutal pace inside him. It's agony, it's ecstasy. Will's body judders and clenches around another orgasm even as Hannibal's cock parts his muscles, bruises his cervix, spreads his hips so wide they ache. The bed creaks in protest beneath him as Hannibal uses him fiercely, every inch the apex predator he is as he fucks through Will's slick, tender body.

One orgasm ends but another is biting at the heels of its brother. Will screams into Hannibal's palm as he comes again, his vision going grey at the edges, his heart hammering. Another, another, his caged cock leaking as much as his ass as Hannibal works him through the pleasure right into pain, it hurts to keep going, it stings and blooms a ragged, gaping need inside him because he wants it, he wants Hannibal to keep going, to fuck him until Will can't walk, can't stand.

He clutches at Hannibal's wrist as his vision starts to go black, and Hannibal moves his hand to Will's throat, cupping gently, and Will heaves with a breath, turns his head and kisses uncoordinated and wanton at Hannibal's bared throat. There is nothing in him but instinct, and that instinct demands he find where there is blood, where there is heat and sweat, and bite.

He does, his undeveloped fangs, which will sharpen when he comes of age, biting through Hannibal's neck, around his flexed tendon. Hannibal goes still, and snarls loudly, shoving Will down onto the bed and jerking back so Will's teeth take their pound of flesh.

Hannibal grips his chin, and pulls out, leaving Will gasping and gaping and raw. He rolls Will onto his back and stares down at him.

Will laughs, and shows his mate his bloody teeth. "You're mine, now," he breathes.

Hannibal's nostrils flare, and he thumbs at his bleeding neck. It's a small bite, all things considered, certainly not life-threatening or something that will do irrevocable damage. Hannibal looks beautiful like that, bloody and sweaty and feral with desire. There's blood on his cock, on his neck, and it's all because of Will.

Then, Hannibal's eyes flash, and grow red with pride. "You monstrous little thing," he growls, and lifts Will onto his lap, pushing Will back down onto his cock. Will gasps, groaning, pawing weakly at Hannibal's shoulders as Hannibal flattens him to the bed again. This angle is worse, and yet better, drags along Will's tender insides and makes him feel each thrust in his throat.

Will knows what he wants, and it's so easy to card his fingers through his alpha's hair, grip Hannibal's nape tenderly, and bare his neck to let Hannibal bite him back. Hannibal does, powerful jaws and sharp teeth splitting Will's skin, and Will shivers, arching and rutting his caged cock on Hannibal's stomach as his blood pours into Hannibal's mouth.

Hannibal wraps a hand in his hair, cradles and covers him, and then his thrusts start to slow. He snarls against Will's neck and Will gasps, goes lax and weak, as he feels Hannibal's knot shoving insistently at his rim. It's huge, it's going to split him apart, and he wants it more than he wants food or air or sunlight.

He clutches at Hannibal's heaving back, and as Hannibal forces his knot inside, Will feels his muscles tear, the base of his cervix parting, and then Hannibal goes still, and floods him. There's so much of it, warm and wet, and Will groans, petting his tender stomach as his alpha comes inside him. He'll be dripping for days, weeks, after taking so much.

Hannibal lifts his head, breathing heavily, his jaw clenching every time Will clamps down around him and urges another spurt from his twitching cock. He smears their shared blood along their jaws, their parted lips, painting Will's face with his tears and blood and sweat. His purr is loud and rises in rhythm with his breathing, his hands flexing strongly on Will's heaving flanks.

Will manages to push himself onto his elbows, lifting his hips so that Hannibal's knot shifts and settles a little deeper inside him. Hannibal huffs, brows rising. Will can't quite articulate that he wants to keep everything in, that not a single drop of his alpha will go to waste, but all he can manage is a ragged whisper of, "More".

Hannibal sighs, sated and spent, and rolls Will so that Hannibal is on his back and Will can settle across his hips. He pulls Will to him, strong arms wrapping around him and petting down his shaking back, and Will purrs and nuzzles his alpha's chest, warm and flooded and utterly content.

After a moment, Hannibal pushes him upright, and twists the numbers on the padlock to Will's cage, unlocking it. He gently pulls it free and Will gasps, whimpering when Hannibal touches him, his wet fingers slicking Will's little cock and easing him to hardness. Will can't help the way his hips rock, jostling and crushing the knot inside him, and he comes with a high-pitched, agonized groan, spilling wet and warm for the first time over Hannibal's belly.

He collapses, squirming, as Hannibal keeps touching him, little whimpers falling from his fucked-out throat as Hannibal touches his overstimulated cock, making him rut and roll and whine to his alpha's chest. "Hannibal," he pleads weakly. "I can't -."

"Of course you can," Hannibal purrs, like the rules of biology mean nothing to him. Maybe they don't. Will is sore and shaking but he can feel the eddies of arousal refusing to leave him be, and grits his teeth, inner muscles fluttering weakly as Hannibal continues to stroke his cock. "I intend to keep you thoroughly used, until you go into heat for me. And then some more." His grin is wide, unrepentantly pleased at seeing Will so weak and useless and spent.

Will's stomach clenches at the mention of heat. If he follows the rules of biology, he won't present for another two years, but he doubts Hannibal cares about that. He even doubts his body will last that long, in the presence of such an unrelenting and compatible alpha. He wonders how it would even compare; the delirium of heat against that which Hannibal has already given him.

Hannibal works him to another orgasm, and then one more after that, before his knot finally deflates. Will doesn't have the strength to lift himself off, but Hannibal doesn't seem to mind. He rolls Will to his back and covers him, keeping his cock warm inside Will's body.

Will squirms again, smiles sheepishly when Hannibal kisses him. "I have to use the bathroom," he says.

Hannibal's head tilts, and he smiles. "What a coincidence," he murmurs, and returns his attention to kissing and licking over Will's bitten neck. Will blinks, frowning, as Hannibal cups his thighs and lifts him, pressing his knees to his chest.

Then, he gasps, eyes widening as he feels another fresh gush of warm wetness inside him. The sharp smell tells him all he needs to know, and he writhes beneath Hannibal, but he's not going anywhere. He whimpers, clawing at Hannibal's shoulders as Hannibal fills him with urine, the warm stream of it leaking out around his cock. Will is too small, his body too tight, for the flood alone to push him out.

Hannibal laughs when he makes a soft, confused sound. "Let go, darling," he whispers. "Your body is mine to use, and I'm not letting you go anywhere any time soon."

As if to prove his point, Will feels him hardening all over again, his lazy rocking turning into purposeful thrusts that force more come and urine out of Will, staining the bed and wetting their bodies. Will whines, gritting his teeth, and clenches his eyes tightly shut as he is forced to relax as well, and shudders at the feel of his own urine coating their bellies.

"Good boy," Hannibal says, soft and low with praise. He cups Will's face and kisses him until he can't breathe. It's hard to feel ashamed when Hannibal touches him like that, kisses him like that. Hannibal pulls back, shivers, growling, and thumbs at the corner of his mouth. "When you're big enough, you'll take me here, too. I'll put a knot behind your teeth."

Will whimpers, jaw aching at the thought of it. He'd probably break it if he tried now. He might, still, when he's full-grown, but the implicit promise of still being with Hannibal so many years later warms him, settles him, and he smiles and lifts his head to nuzzle the sluggishly leaking bite mark on Hannibal's neck.

"Whatever you want," he promises, because Hannibal gives him freedom, promises strength and a guiding hand, a brilliant mind and companion, anything Will could want. It seems like so little, so inconsequential, to offer his body in return.

Hannibal growls softly in answer, and kisses him deeply, clamps his hands on Will's thighs and holds him still as he forces Will to take a second knot, and it hurts and it's good and Will knows it's not just come and slick making him wet anymore.

Hannibal snarls, low and darkly pleased. Will would be happy the rest of his life if Hannibal always looked at him like that. He reaches up, presses a hand over his alpha's heart, and says again; "Whatever you want."

Hannibal smiles, feral and wide. "Atta boy."


End file.
